Chapter 11:
died living.
He woke up somewhere he didn’t recognize.
A park bench, cracked at the edges. Grass growing up through the cement. The trees above him whispering in voices he couldn’t understand. The air was damp. Morning, maybe. Or late afternoon. He couldn’t tell.
His phone was dead.
Battery? Or time?
He sat up slowly. His joints ached.
Clothes wrinkled. Dirt on his sleeves.
He didn’t remember coming here.
Didn’t remember sleeping.
Didn’t remember… much.
What day was it?
What day was it supposed to be?
He looked around.
Empty swings. Rusted slides. A single crow on a power line, staring at him.
He got up.
Walked in a direction he hoped was home.
He passed familiar streets that no longer felt familiar. Buildings stood in the right places, but the colors were wrong. The shops had different names.
Or maybe… they’d always had those names.
He passed a group of students in uniform.
Not from his school.
He didn’t recognize them.
One looked at him. A boy, about his age.
Their eyes met.
The boy frowned, then turned away.
As if nothing had registered.
As if he wasn’t even there.
He arrived at home eventually.
Or what used to be home.
The door was unlocked.
He stepped inside.
No shoes at the entrance.
No voices.
No smell of dinner cooking.
He moved into the living room.
The lights were off.
No sign of his parents.
He stood there, in the dark silence.
And slowly, dread set in.
He checked every room.
No one.
Not even things.
The photos on the wall — gone.
The fridge — empty.
The closet — hollow.
As if the house had been abandoned for years.
His knees gave out.
He collapsed onto the floor, breathing shallow.
He checked the calendar.
The date read three days ahead of what he remembered.
Three days.
Gone.
Nothing.
No memory.
Just a gap.
A silence.
He tried to think.
But the more he tried to remember, the more it hurt.
His head throbbed.
And then — voices.
Soft at first. Distant.
Then louder.
But not coming from outside.
From within.
Whispers.
Things he’d heard before — twisted.
“Liar.”
“You made her up.”
“No one ever liked you.”
“They just pretended.”
He clutched his head, shaking.
“No… no… stop…”
The lights flickered.
Or maybe it was just his vision.
His heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else.
And then, in the corner of the room, he saw it:
Her shoes.
Aki’s.
The ones with the little bow on the back.
Neatly placed.
As if she’d just come home.
He crawled toward them, trembling hands reaching.
But the moment he touched them — they vanished.
Gone.
Just like everything else.
He stared at the empty floor.
And finally said it out loud:
“…Am I the one that disappeared?”
He waited for an answer.
But none came.
Only the low hum of the empty house.
Only the sound of a boy who was starting to forget what it meant to be a person.
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